The Holder of Perspective
James stepped into the mental institution, instructions in hand. He didn't expect this ridiculous ritual to work at all, but after all, the only thing he had at risk was about an hour's wasted time and maybe a little embarrassment. He approached the woman working at the reception desk and asked in a quiet whisper if he could visit the one who called himself "The Holder of Perspective." What happened next surprised him a little: the receptionist nodded her head solemnly, just as the instructions said she would. "Okay," he thought. "Apparently I'm not the first one to pull something like this. Chances are she's read these things and is just playing along. Maybe she'll lead me back to their break room or whatever just so she can show off to her co-workers the latest idiot who walked in asking for something stupid. Let 'em all have a good laugh. God, why did I think this had the slightest chance of working?" His rambling, self-deriding thoughts were silenced, however, once she unlocked the chained double doors and he saw the long, narrow stairs leading up far higher than the building should have physically allowed. "Holy shit, these things are actually real." James ascended the stairs with caution. As expected, once he reached a certain height, he began to see images projected onto the walls. They were the largest and deadliest disasters of humankind; the destruction of Pompeii, the ravages of the Black Plague, the Holocaust, 9/11. The images showed these tragedies through the eyes of each and every victim. It was all James could do to prevent being consumed by sorrow and grief, but he knew well the price for letting himself succumb to despair. Besides, beyond his wildest expectations he'd already made it this far; he couldn't let himself fail now. After a long and tiring climb, he finally made it to the top of the stairs where an ornate marble wall with several tiny, eye-shaped glass windows awaited. He remembered his instructions and put his left eye into the window with a perfect vertical crack down the middle. In an instant his viewpoint shifted from his own body to that of an ancient man in a oval stone chamber. The man was using his slender, bony fingers to trace patterns over a large glass eye. James felt his grasp on his own mind weakening, so before he lost his mind completely, he thought as hard as he could, "How will They see the End?" In an instant, thousands of images started flashing before his eyes. They were images of the same scenes he'd viewed in the hall, only this time they were from the eyes of outside observers. Feelings of apathy, grief, and joy flooded him all at once. The last image he saw was of an endless inferno; at this, there was no emotion other than sheer unbridled horror. Already physically and mentally drained from the journey up to this point, James could no longer handle the strain and collapsed where he stood. ---- Ah, another poor Seeker who couldn't handle my visions. Very few have the mental strength for it, you see, and for good reason; no ordinary person was ever meant to witness the vision of the End, and certainly not an amateur like that one. I'll dispose of his body and place his soul inside my glass eye, where he will join the thousands of others who have failed. My glass eye is object 26 of 538. It awaits someone capable of viewing the world through Their perspective.